There are days when I can wait 'five more minutes,' and days when I cannot.
"Five more minutes!"
In the park in the evening, my daughter looks back while chasing soap bubbles.
I instinctively check my watch.
We have to go home now.
Make dinner, take a bath, tidy up the laundry.
As a single father, the number of times I check the clock in the evening naturally increases.
So, honestly, my daughter's "five more minutes" feels a bit long.
But there is something strange.
Even though my daughter says "five more minutes" the same way every time, my reaction is completely different depending on the day.
Some days, I say,
"Let's go home now."
and tell her immediately.
Other days, I say,
"I guess I have no choice."
and start playing with her while laughing.
The same daughter.
The same park.
The same "five more minutes."
What was different was me.
—
When working in HR, I am often asked at the end of an interview,
"Can I ask one more question?"
Even if I have a next appointment, I often answer,
"Of course."
Because I think that "one more question" is likely what the student wants to ask the most.
The meaning is completely different.
But every time I hear those words, I remember my daughter laughing and saying "five more minutes!" in the park just a little bit.
I can wait for a student's "one more question."
But there are days when I cannot wait for my daughter's "five more minutes."
Even though I am just being asked for "a little more" in both cases.
—
Of course, we can't always go home smoothly every day.
There are days when she digs her heels in at the park, saying,
"I don't want to go home!"
On such days, I might use words like,
"Shall we eat Anpanman crackers at home?"
or
"Let's use a bath bomb when we get home."
I do wonder if that's okay educationally.
Even so, my daughter says,
"Yay!"
and takes my hand.
—
This day was the same at first.
"Shall we go home?"
When I said that, my daughter looked back while chasing soap bubbles and laughed,
"Five more minutes!"
I reflexively checked my watch.
Dinner.
Bath.
The things I had to do came to mind in order.
But that day, I was able to stop for just a moment.
If it's really just about five minutes.
Thinking that, I said,
"Okay, just five more minutes, really."
My daughter ran off saying "Yay!" and chased the soap bubbles.
"Daddy, come here too!"
Called like that, I ran along with her.
As an adult, you almost never chase soap bubbles.
But once you start chasing them, you surprisingly get absorbed in it.
I found myself a bit funny, running seriously with my three-year-old daughter.
—
Those five minutes don't mean the housework gets finished.
It doesn't mean there is less to do.
Even so, I felt that the air in the room was a little softer that night.
Thinking about it later,
it wasn't my daughter who was in a hurry.
My daughter just wanted to play.
It was me who was in a rush.
Rather than the clock,
I might have been rushed by myself, thinking,
"I have to finish this quickly."
—
Of course, days when I can't wait will come again.
There will surely be days when I respond to "Five more minutes!" with,
"Not today, we're going home."
I think there will be days on the way home when I am helped by Anpanman crackers.
That, too, is probably what I am like right now.
My daughter's "five more minutes" is probably the same yesterday and today.
What was different was me, thinking those five minutes were long.
Tomorrow, too, my daughter will surely laugh and say in the park,
"Five more minutes!"
—
What were you being rushed by today?
Was it things to do?
Was it work?
Or was it yourself?
—
I have written before about the feelings that sway between work and parenting, and the casual time I spend with my daughter. "The day I laughed before my daughter did" and "There are people I want to see again even without a reason" are also connected to this story somewhere. I would be happy if you could read those as well.